Communication Breakdown
by sass box
Summary: After a shooting lands RO in counselling, he's faced with a diagnosis that could put his navy career in jeopardy and change everything he's ever known about himself. Oneshot.


**a/n: **This is a plot bunny I've had swirling around in my head for a while, and upon rewatching the series, decided to explore the idea that our beloved RO is autistic. I hope I've done it justice, and as always, please read and review!

* * *

**Communication Breakdown**

Trauma was a thing that happened to other people. Robert had always considered himself somehow external to the emotional issues that affected his crewmates, but here he was in a psychologist's office anyway, not that he would have ever come under his own free will.

He pushed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images: Dutchy's frantic eyes, the way Bird's dark ponytail trembled as she squirmed against the man pressing a gun to her temple, the way Dutchy's hands wavered as he started to lower his gun, and the way the captor crumpled as a bullet tore through his chest and Bird toppled forward, hands flying out to meet the sand and break her fall.

Robert didn't believe in fate or kismet, and but he certainly could consider it sheer dumb luck that he'd gotten separated from the rest of the crew in the mangrove swamps that day – thirteen days and five hours ago, to be exact – and emerged from the treeline to find Bird struggling against a chokehold with a gun to her head, and Dutchy about to surrender. He didn't think, just reacted the way he'd been trained to, and then Dutchy had Bird in his arms and the assailant was dead. When the balaclava came off, all three were horrified to find themselves looking at the smooth features and patchy, barely-there beard of a boy who couldn't have been more than 17.

Bird found solace in Dutchy's embrace, but Robert wasn't sure solace existed for him, even though he knew as well as everyone else that he'd saved a few lives that day. Kate didn't pull any punches, so counselling it was, not that he wanted to talk about it with anybody, his shipmates especially.

The walls were painted a soothing pale blue, with pastel paintings arranged just so, and an aquarium bubbling merrily away in one corner. Before Robert could stew in his own juices, the door swung open and a middle-aged woman appeared.

"Robert Dixon?"

Reluctantly, he stood up and followed her into the room, exchanging perfunctory pleasantries, established that her name was Dr. Kettering but he could call her Anne, and settled himself on the couch, feeling small amongst the plump pillows. He knew that some people had been through this whole thing enough to know what to say to get cleared, but he had no idea what the woman before him might have wanted in order to sign off on him. What came easily to the likes of Dutchy might as well have been Greek to him. With an awkward, pursed-lip smile, he settled for honesty. "I'm fine, honestly," he started, hands in his lap. "I don't need to be here."

Dr. Kettering smiled and he couldn't read the meaning behind it, but her eyes crinkled at the corners, which he knew meant it was real. "Everybody can benefit from having someone to talk to, Robert. What you do for a living is hard, and sometimes it helps to debrief with somebody who's not your superior officer."

He hated this. It felt like a test of some sort, but you could study for a test, and he had no idea what was expected of him here, in these four walls of oh-so-curated calmness. He swallowed down the panic rising from the pit of his stomach, and she noticed, because of course she did.

"Look, you're not in trouble. This is confidential, and we won't talk about anything you're not comfortable with." There was that smile again, though dialled down.

"I did my job, somebody died, but I did exactly what I was trained to do. It happened, it happens all the time, and it'll happen again. I'm not _traumatized,_" he retorted, biting off the last word a little more sharply than he'd intended. Trauma happened to people like Bird, who was young and still hadn't had the shine of innocence worn off her. "This is ridiculous."

She paused, considering the dark-haired sailor in front of her with his inscrutable eyes and set jaw. The irony of a communications officer who was surprisingly non-communicative was not lost on her. "Okay," she replied with a shrug. "Tell me about your job. What's the best part of it?"

Robert frowned. The sudden switching of gears was a curveball, not that he had any idea of how exactly this entire thing was going to go. Maybe he should have asked Dutchy how to navigate this appointment to convince the doctor he was just peachy and move on with his life as quickly as possible. "I'm a radio operator aboard the HMAS Hammersley," he started, eyebrows furrowing again as he considered the question honestly. "I suppose I like the challenge of linking radio frequencies with whatever we're currently working on or being able to communicate with foreign fishermen when I speak their language. I've gotten to travel and see plenty of new places."

Dr. Kettering nodded, jotting down a few notes. "Do you have a favourite place you've travelled so far?"

"Any place that has clean drinking water and as few insects as possible," he replied seriously, and she swallowed a smile. That seemed about right, based on his file, which contained phrases like 'uncommunicative' and 'unsocial' amongst other 'uns' that didn't seem quite like a fair assessment of the young man in front of her.

"What about your shipmates? How are they?" she pressed gently, looking up from his file and making eye contact for a split second, before he looked away uneasily.

"They're fine, I guess." They were, for all intents and purposes, a good lot, but the close confines of a patrol boat meant that they were more like a family than coworkers, and Robert had always felt like the black sheep. Sometimes he felt like he was close to being one of the boys, but then inevitably his lack of social awareness turned him into the punchline of a joke he didn't understand, and that frustration bubbled onto his tongue and out into the open. Once he'd said it, he burned under Dr. Kettering's sympathetic eyes.

"I don't think you're a freak, Robert, quite the contrary, actually," she said, pausing. "I do, however, think there's a good chance you're on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum."

"What?" His almond eyes narrowed, fingers twisting in confusion in his lap. "Don't you think somebody would have diagnosed me by now? God knows I spent enough time talking to counsellors as a kid." There was a bitter, mirthless laugh. So many counsellors thanks to his abusive father, but not one had ever posited autism as a reason for his way of being.

"Not necessarily," she replied with a shrug, and he noticed the glossy soft pink colour of her nails as she wrapped her fingers around her pen, before setting it down again. "The older you get, the easier it is to learn scripts and cues and hide it. If you're interested in pursuing a diagnosis, I can arrange a referral for a second opinion."

"What about my job? The Navy is all I've known, the only thing I'm good at!" he burst out, feeling the panic spring up again. "I can't afford to lose my job."

"If you're concerned, I'd suggest talking to one of your superior officers, Robert, but I'll do some research and see if I can get a more concrete answer. Can we set up another appointment for the next time you're on shore and discuss it further?" she suggested, taking a sip of her water and offering him a calm smile.

He stood somewhat shakily, trying to process the bombshell she'd just dropped. "Sure. I'll make another one once I'm back in port." He paused in the doorway, face cloudy but his words were genuine. "Thank you."

* * *

"X? Do you have a second?" Robert asked, as he rounded a corner and spotted Kate heading to her cabin after finishing watch.

"Sure, RO. Come on in," his superior officer replied, ushering him in and closing the door behind them. "How did your counselling appointment go?"

"That's just what I wanted to talk to you about." He shifted uneasily in the doorway, transferring his weight from one foot to the other until she motioned for him to sit down, and he did, gratefully. "I need to know, off the record, if being diagnosed with high-functioning autism – Asperger's – would sink my career."

"Did the psychologist think that was a possibility?" Kate asked, spinning her chair to face him and finding herself completely unsurprised when he broke eye contact almost immediately.

Finding himself at a loss for words, Robert nodded slowly, reluctantly. "She offered to refer me to somebody else for a second opinion and further testing for a more concrete diagnosis. I just don't want to lose my career."

"That's understandable. I'll ask some questions, but I believe there's a waiver for this type of thing. For what it's worth from me, I think you're excellent at your job and a diagnosis wouldn't change that. You're an important part of this crew, regardless of an extra few words on your file," Kate replied, smiling over at him. She reached out and touched his arm gently, expecting him to flinch away, but he didn't. "I'll let you know what I find out. If a diagnosis would affect anything, I don't remember having this conversation."

His heart rose, buoyed by fresh hope. As much as Kate could be an unreadable ice queen, sometimes she really did show how much she cared, and her honest words touched a part of him that was so often closed off behind titanium walls. "Thank you, X."

She nodded, with a half-smile on her face. "I'll keep you posted."

It only took a week for Kate to dig up some answers. "Hey, RO, I have some news for you," she called, power-walking after him, and he ducked into the galley, which was empty. She followed him in and closed the door, blocking out the eerie crimson of the exit lights.

He exhaled, his hands suddenly shaky as he reached for the coffeepot. "Just tell me."

"It's not a deal-breaker as far as the Navy's concerned. As I suspected, there's a waiver that both the CO and I will happily sign, should it be necessary," she told him, pouring herself a brew and leaning back against the shiny silver countertop. "Go get that second opinion, if you feel you'd like to, and we'll deal with anything as it comes."

"Thank you, ma'am." When he looked up, his eyes were soft with relief, and his shoulders loosened. He held up his cup, and she touched hers gently to his. "Cheers."

* * *

When the Hammersley docked in Cairns again, most of the crew headed off to the pub, but Robert couldn't quite bring himself to join them, preferring the peace and quiet of his apartment. His appointment was the next day, and he was beginning to feel himself twisting into knots with anxiety, and he was concerned he'd blurt out the entire thing out of sheer panic if he got drunk enough to be less nervous about the whole thing. It was an innocuous enough night, but he couldn't help but wonder if this was the end of an era. If he backed out, could he be okay with not knowing for sure? Would a label change the essence of him?

He was awake in the grey dawn light, skipping the coffee in favour of a cup of tea while he watched the sun slowly paint the world in gold, and tried to take deep breaths as he killed time while waiting to leave the house.

It was more or less as he'd expected: questions and questionnaires, the new psychologist's pen moving constantly across the paper, clipboard tilted at an angle so he couldn't read anything being written about him, and god, he wanted to know, but instead he sat there twisting his neatly groomed fingers back and forth in his lap.

Eventually, the psychologist set down the pen and shifted back in his chair, looking at Robert over the top of his glasses. "Well, Mr. Dixon, everything you've told me supports Dr. Kettering's diagnosis of high-functioning autism."

Robert felt his world shift on its axis, and just as quickly, settle back in place. Everything was suddenly different, but everything was the same. How did one respond to being told something a string of counsellors should have noticed throughout his childhood? He was lost, as he often was in social situations. "Thank you," he murmured, running a hand through his dark hair. "What next?"

"I'll add it to your file, making sure to note that you are absolutely still fit for duty," the psychologist replied, with a warm smile.

"Do I have to tell anyone?" he whispered, as the possibilities for more teasing floated through his head.

"Aside from your superiors, not if you're not comfortable."

"Thank you." Remembering that people shook hands, Robert stood up, offered his, and left the room in a daze. Once outside in the thick humidity and blinding sunshine, he called Kate, who agreed to meet him at a nearby coffee shop.

She was already there by the time he arrived, dressed casually in shorts and a light blue button-up, cornsilk blonde hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head, and cradling a flat white in both hands. She looked up with a wide smile as he approached her table with a glass of lavender lemonade sweating in one hand. "How'd it go?"

"Um, he confirmed what the first shrink thought," Robert replied, shrugging one shoulder and sipping on his lemonade, the tartness pulling him back down to earth.

"This doesn't change anything, you know that, right, Robert? You're still our RO," Kate told him, slightly thrown off by his air of childlike vulnerability, so different from his usual aloof self. "Whether you choose to share with the rest of the crew is up to you, but I promise the CO and I will sign whatever we need to and treat this with as much discretion as you'd like."

"Thank you, X." He'd been saying those two words a lot recently, but he meant them every time. He looked up, and there was a flash of his smile, before he went back to his lemonade, and they drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, before his stomach growled and he realized that he hadn't eaten yet. "I should go home and get some breakfast. Thanks for meeting me."

She stood up, and before she could stop herself, her arms were around him, holding him in a comfortably tight hug. "Always, Robert. We're your family."

And for the first time in a while, he believed it.


End file.
